Copyright © 2021 by Katana Collins
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover Art by: Corin Howell
Cover Design by: Julianne Burke at Heart to Cover
Edited by: Erin Marenghi, Rachel Mason
Created with Vellum
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
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About the Author
1 Liam
7:45 p.m.
Crying women are not my thing.
Okay, I know this is probably something that most men, if not all, say. And if there ever was a man who liked crying women, that’d be pretty damn concerning.
The thing is, though. I really don’t like crying women because I’m an empathetic crier. And though many women claim they want a sensitive man who isn’t afraid of their feelings, once they witness me cry… for the rest of my life, all they see me as: Liam Evans, crybaby.
Empathy shouldn’t be something that makes me feel ashamed. And yet… here I was—standing in front of Chloe Dyker’s front door for the last fifteen minutes staring at the illuminated doorbell but refusing to ring it.
I glanced down at my feet from over top of the baker’s dozen box of cupcakes resting on top of my hands and kicked some loose gravel off of the stoop. I had no doubts that beyond this door, Chloe was crying inside over the discovery of her fiancé’s (or rather, ex-fiancé’s) affair. Just the thought had my throat tightening. Dammit.
“This is a favor to Elaina,” I whispered to myself. “That’s all. Just a favor to my brother’s girlfriend—checking in on her little sister.” My reflection bounced off of the inlayed windows of her front door. Shit, were my eyes already red?
With a deep breath, my eyes fell closed, and I willed my overactive tear ducts to calm the fuck down. I’d go in, drop off the junk food, and then be quickly on my way. I doubted Chloe wanted to see me anymore than I wanted to see her right now. If what Elaina said was true, and her fiancé ended things—no, not just ended things… cheated on her and called off their wedding—then Chloe probably wanted to be alone to wallow.
Granted, I didn’t know Chloe all that well, so I wasn’t sure if she was the wallowing type. Sure, we went to high school together. My brother was dating her sister. And we may have drunkenly made out once when we were sixteen; but our relationship, or lack thereof, pretty much ended there.
Closing my fist, I raised it to the door, readying myself to knock. Just before I could bring my knuckles down, the door swung open, and Chloe stood there in all her magnificent glory.
She wore tight yoga pants that left little to the imagination and a cropped, pink, sleeveless t-shirt that said Donut Worry. Her blond hair fell in soft curls all the way down to the middle of her back, one section over her shoulder grazing the perfectly tear-shaped breasts pushing against that t-shirt—sans bra, might I add. In one hand, she held a large pitcher and in the other, a cigarette.
And she wasn’t crying. She was smiling.
“Liam!” she shrieked, throwing her arms overhead. A bit of green slushy liquid from within the pitcher sloshed over the edge, landing on the stoop. The ants would have a field day with that, no doubt. “You’re here!”
“Did, uh, did you know I was coming?”
Her brows lifted and her grin impossibly widened more. “No. That’s what makes it so exciting!” Between two cotton-candy-colored manicured fingers, she pinched a straw that I hadn’t noticed in the pitcher and took a long sip. When she was finished, she offered the pitcher to me. “Margarita?”
“Uh…”
She didn’t give me the chance to answer. Lunging forward, she clutched my shirt and yanked me inside, where rap was blasting through the speakers.
“Are you having a party?” I shouted over the music.
She snorted, then grabbing a remote, turned the music down. “Yes. It’s my good riddance to Dan party! And the lovely host is this here tequila. Tequila is my new boyfriend.” She lifted the half-empty bottle of Herradura Silver and cradled it against her cheek. “You would never cheat on me, would you?”
Well, at least she wasn’t crying. “No,” I answered cautiously, plucking the liquor from her grasp and setting it gently onto the counter. “But he will probably leave you with one hell of a headache tomorrow. How about some coffee instead?”
Her nose scrunched. “With a little Irish?” When I sighed in response, she whined, “I thought you were fun.”
“You’re thinking of Neil.” Or maybe Fin. Literally, I was the least fun Evans brother in existence. And my sister, Addy, outdid all of us in that department. “But…” I grabbed the box of baked goods I had set down on her counter and opened the lid, revealing a smattering of cupcakes and donuts I baked that hadn’t sold today at the bakery. There were never many left over, but we had the occasional few.
I glanced around her house, looking for any trace of other people. Where were her girlfriends? The ones I met that day at her bachelorette party when Neil and I delivered cupcakes months ago.
She leaned over the box of baked goods, wide eyed. “Ohhh! Cupcakes and donuts? You’re the best!” She clapped her hands, jumping
